Before the Feast

“OK, James, listen up.” On the week before the holiday, we got some wonderful news, and I needed to share it. “Aunt Debbie and Uncle Jeff are coming for Thanksgiving. That means we have some work to do.”

James straightened and stared at me, eyes wide. Grown now, he still surveyed the world through his lens of autism spectrum disorder.

“I’m going to be cooking, so you’ll be in charge of the floors and dining room. Pick up all the pet toys and sweep the tile floor onto the carpet where you’ll vacuum. Ian and Mom work, so it’s up to you and me. Since I have to go to bed early, I’m depending on you to do your job without me looking over your shoulder. You’re an adult now, and I should be able to count on you to do your work alone. If you have any questions, ask me before Wednesday. Are we a team?”

He nodded and returned to his pursuits.

When “Thanksgiving Eve” arrived, I turned to my older son. “I’m going to bed now. Don’t forget what you have to do.”

“Right, Father.”

The next morning, I didn’t want to rise because of what I knew I’d face. Cleaning the house while cooking wasn’t how I wanted to spend Thanksgiving, but I set my jaw and rose while everyone, even the pets, slept, then went on a quick inspection tour.

And my jaw fell open.

The living room? Spotless. The coffee and end tables? Clean and polished. The floors? Sparkling and looking like new. I started a pot of coffee and sat at the table. All the time I’d spent worrying about extra work? Wasted! He’d done what I’d asked and more.

I poured a mug and cupped my hands around it. Yeah, it was nice when he was little. Now that he’s grown, things could be even nicer.